The Edge

Waiting in the edge of the inevitable is unlike anything I've ever been confronted with. The well of emotions conjured up by the surrounding circumstances is extraordinarily powerful. It's strange. The recognition of conflicting ideals between what I, or we, want verses what's best for dad makes it all the more perplexing and that much harder to have to deal with.

There's nothing that can be done. The doctors said he's too weak, too malnourished, and the cancer has consumed a large majority if his insides. It hasn't gotten into his organs just yet, but its only a matter if time, I suppose. He's had strokes. Strokes that have made him delusional. I'm not entirely sure he's aware of any of us anymore. In a way I hope he doesn't become fully aware. The weight, the gravity of the decision that's been made...would be devastating. I want my dad to be ok. I want my hero back. I want us to laugh, and play, and be strong men together again. And we never will be again. Not anymore...and my heart hurts.

Cloudiness

It seems like we all just went through this.  Same time of year.  Same kind of life changing event.  Same whirlwind of emotions.

Last year I quit blogging.  Quit drawing and painting for a while.  Quit for almost an entire year...because my dad was sick.  He had gotten cancer...again.  There was a benchmark that was coming up last year. A benchmark that would have put my dad in a percentile in which reoccurrence of this type of cancer becomes drastically slim.  He was about to be in what we all thought was "the safe zone".  But...right as he was about it reach it...it came back.  It came back hard and it almost got him.  He fought.  Fought the good fight and once again prevailed.  It took an unspeakable toll on him and those of us who love him were shaken to the core because we almost lost him.

For almost an entire year I struggled with hate and anger in my heart.  It clouded my thoughts...consumed my every waking moment.  I became debilitated.  Paralyzed by an insufferable rage and enveloped in a what-does-it-all-mean kind of a way.  I think I might have done two or three finished drawings in the past 12 months.  Maybe two or three paintings.  And I vowed...that no matter what...this year would be different.  At the very least I'd carry a pad and pencils with me.  I'd go on scouting trips for subject material.  I even decided to buy a house.  A considerably grown-up decision and one that I'm proud of.  I was even able to convert one of the larger rooms into a semi-proper studio....and then...it came back.  Cancer's got a hold of my dad again.  And although the physicians and even my dad himself seem more optimistic about this go around...I can feel the clouds building in the distance...and as much as I try...I can feel myself moving toward them...